Wasteland

She shrugged one shoulder.  “Figured it was.  I don’t think I’d be here if I couldn’t have been faster than a career.”  Absentmindedly her finger brushed along the scar on her forearm from the District One boy’s sword.  “I didn’t mean to interrupt your training.”

“It’s fine.” She’d been dealing with her tribute’s disappearing act since they’d been on the train. At this point she was beginning to think it might be good to stop advising all together. Maybe it would be enough just to give them some comfort in their last days. 

“Smarter too,” she added. “I remember your games. That career was about as cocky as they come.” That had been a decade ago during the hardest period of her life, but she remembered seeing the tribute on the screen. She remembered Birch doing most of the leg work when her victory tour came round. “This crop I’m not so sure of though.”

Her tributes stuttered out a small “y-y-yes ma’am’ and then an even quieter ‘excuse me’ before hurrying off toward the changing rooms. Sable sighed as she watched them going, knowing that they were as skittish as a foal and probably scared simply by the other’s presence. Such hypersensitivity could be useful but also damning. 

“And they’re gone again,” she muttered. “Sorry about that. I don’t have very talkative tributes this year. That’s good advice.”

“You see that,” Sable leaned close to her tribute, pointing out the district one tribute currently sparring on the mats. “All brute. No speed.”

She was no trained fighter but twenty years in the capitol meant she’d learned a thing or two about going up against a trained killer. No one was without a weakness, and that meant opportunity. “If you find yourself in his sights just don’t stop moving. You can run a lot faster than he can swing.”

“Picking plants and stuff isn’t nearly impressive, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Situation like this I don’t really see the difference,” she noted. Her arms crossed as she stood there overlooking the career tribute. She didn’t intend to demonize the girl, simply turn her off sending her tribute into a panic attack. Her two were already seeing the end and if she couldn’t turn their thoughts toward survival she’d at least protect them from the worst of the fear. “You don’t need to sell your skills to this lot. They all know what you are.”

A pained look migrated across Birch’s face at the thought of Leo’s name in the Reaping Bowl. He shook his head slightly, looking up at Sable. “There’s such a slim chance that Leo will come up next year. But, we can do whatever you think is right for him. You’re not going to go through this by yourself.”

He met Sable’s eyes, his voice lowering as well. “You are an excellent mentor, Sable. You have helped me so much since I won. You’ve become a confidante and like a sister to me. Don’t put yourself through that. The odds are against us. They always have been for our District. If anything, I’m not a good enough mentor. This is the eleventh year since I won and no one’s been that close. It hurts every year, more and more.”

“I know. I know. But that doesn’t stop me from thinking about it. From losing sleep at the mere thought.” She’d been honest with Leo about her life from the beginning, figuring that while she might obsessive over his every cough and cut it would be a disservice to him to paint the world as kinder than it was. He was a brave boy, he’d go to the reaping with his head up, but she wouldn’t be able to breath until the event was over. 

She reached forward to grab Birch’s hand as he spoke. “Don’t think that for a second. You’re a lot kinder, a lot more available to them than I am. I wasn’t there for you when you won. I didn’t even feel like I was physically here.” That first year or two was a blur. She’d spent any non-mandatory time in her victor home with her newborn. Shutters closed, doors locked, and nothing but the sound of Leo’s babbling to keep her afloat. “It won’t be like that when you finally get a victor. I know you’ll do it right.”

Birch nodded, his fingers playing with the seam of his prosthetic. “I try not to let it get to me. But sometimes it feels like I’m the problem, even thought that’s probably not the case.” The last couple of years had been tough. Lucky and Jude and then Finn last year. They all had been good kids that impacted his life and it had been tougher. But Birch didn’t like when he couldn’t try and make his tributes’ lives better before they might end.

“We could have a chance this year, we just can’t give up on them.”

She nodded at Birch’s words, bringing her hands together in front of her and interlacing her fingers. Her grip was tight and her nails bitten down. The stylist would have another one of her rants about that bad habit of hers once she reported to her. She’d developed a thick skin out of necessity. She wouldn’t have survived the 37 losses otherwise, much less been able to stand in front of the grieving families. 

“I know, I know. It’s just hard. This is my last year before Leo’s in that reaping bowl.” Her voice was paper thin and barely above a whisper. “Twenty years and I’m still not a good enough mentor. We have so many houses empty in our village, so many chances that I couldn’t pull through on.”

Valor could see for a moment that Sable had gone back into her head, so he remained patient with her, knowing far too well how that felt. He hadn’t been as depressed as he did before the proposal. While he always had be on top of his medication, he was happier than he had ever been with his new life. Sable came out of the thought quickly as she went in, however, and he was thankful for that.

Valor huffed a laugh as a smile widened across his handsome face. “Believe it or not, she hates pink,” he said. “Purple is where it’s at. As far as the mess, it’s like an extension of my husband’s mess has bled out of his shop and into the rest of the house, if I’m honest.”

“Best not to fight it,” she confided. She felt slightly embarrassed for letting herself slip into those old thoughts. Typically she was good at locking them away and just never acknowledging they were even there. She could only imagine the kind of mess that Dorian would make however. “The days of organization are behind you. It’s all bare feet stepping on legos from here on out.”

Rose’s eyes grew wide and fascinated by Sable’s accent, smiling and giggling at her as she did. It was probably a strange sound to the young girl, as District Three had its own sort of dialect as well. Valor probably sounded far too proper to have ever been from District Three, but it was a good thing that most people knew who he was for that to not be a question. They all knew where he was from originally.

“Yes it is,” Valor agreed as he shifted his little one against his side. “Matches a very beautiful little girl.”

Rose seemed to blush and she put her head down against her father’s shoulder, giggling while she covered her eyes with her hands.

She laughed, eyebrows drawn together at the display. She’d never had a daughter, nor the chance to see Colt interact with his son and for a brief moment her mind was drawn elsewhere. He would have looked like that with a girl in his arms, different face, different child, but similiar enough. She’d told him only one but that absolution could have been chipped away at when you were Colton Hargreeves. 

She snapped out of that train of thought quickly though. “So I imagine your nights have gotten a lot shorter, and your days a lot pinker. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a toddler in the house, but I remember quite a mess.”

“Do they ever though? I think my year they talked made a lot of jokes about the one-armed boy from Ten.” He shook his head, biting the inside of his lip. It wasn’t uncommon for them to have tributes who fully accepted the Reaping as a death sentence. “I got a little hello out of the boy, but the girl she just stalked to her room and didn’t come out as far as I could tell. Did you get anything from them?”

“Not happenin’,” she affirmed again for about the twentieth time. It wasn’t that she hated Lael, the girl was sweet enough when it came to capitolites, but she wasn’t going to see someone she loved settle his life on what amounted to a mistake. Birch had given enough to the capitol, they didn’t need this as well. She was loathe to do anything to attract attention but she was willing to take this straight to Snow. “Not on my watch.”

She shook her head about the tributes. “Not a peep.” She didn’t fault them their fear or their silences. She’d hardly spoken to anyone but her district partner when she was a tribute, but being so distant was typically not a good sign. “It’s been over a decade since we’ve brought someone home that wasn’t in a pine box.”

Nodding, Marina sighed.  “I get that.  How are your tributes doing?”

“Skittish, quiet, and, according to the commentators, doomed.” She took a deep breath, pushing her hair over to one shoulder. She didn’t always give off a comforting feel, tending to lock away any emotions during this time of year and focus on the task at hand. She was a mother, but she had no room for that kind of affection here. “If they talk it will probably be to Birch first.”

“The congratulations never stop, even eight months later.” Everyone wanted a piece, a part in his and Lael’s ‘story’. “If I ever get married, I might ask you to be officiant actually,” he said, with a smile. “I think it would be fun.”

Birch nodded towards the muted television. “We should probably sit down and watch these together, eh? I sat down and tried to watch the highlights, but kind of fell asleep towards the end.” He sipped at his iced coffee, liking the taste of the cream and sugar with just a hint of coffee.

“That’s why I got married in my backyard and the only souls who knew were family.” That had been the happiest day that she could remember. She’d managed to keep the whole thing out of the gazette for a full year and when the news had officially broken she’d brought the article home and had a laugh and smoke with Colt. That’s what a wedding should be. Private, personnel, and without intervention. “Well I’m not tyin’ you to anyone you don’t love.”

She sighed as she looked to the screen and the highlights. “They ain’t got anythin’ good to say about us. Did either of them come out and talk to you on the train?” 

Valor gave a gentle eye roll but it was accompanied by a smile as he shook his head and looked to his fellow Victor. “Oh, can it, Sable,” Valor said with a laugh. “I’m only trying.” He looked to Rose who still looked baffled and was staring at Sable, waiting for her to say something else. “Sable, this is Rose. Rose, can you say hi to Sable… nicely?”

“Hi,” Rose said. “Talk again!”

She merely shook her head at Valor, the smile lingering. There wasn’t enough moments like this in the tower and she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to tease the district one victor about his little girl. 

“Well now what would you like me to say little cowgirl?” she asked. She gave the little girl a wave, her vowels long and her consonants rounded. When she’d first come to the capitol she’d assumed all district citizens spoke like they did in ten, but that wasn’t true. They all had subtle dialects from living so alienated from each other but for whatever reason her own districts twang was the most prominent. “Rose is a very beautiful name.”